Mersing to Kuala Terengganu: 288 miles
The backroads out of Mersing were flat, quiet and scenic, everything I’d hoped for from the east coast. A gentle sea breeze rustled through the coconut groves whilst elite units of goats patrolled each village, seemingly in charge.
“This is the place for an old man like me” said the not so old man below. He’d come back to his village to build a house and sell cane juice. I was an instant investor! Whilst his dad cooked some fried banana he told me about his kids. His son was also a teacher (in KL) and was always off travelling in his school holidays – he thought this was wonderful, but he also thought he should probably find a wife. I ate my fried banana.
Whilst the villages were peaceful, stood like sentinels between them were scores of mysterious concrete towers.
These were not military facilities, but ‘swiftlet farms’ producing nests (built slowly from saliva) for the most lucrative of traditional Chinese health products: birds nest soup. The delicate job of cleaning the fragile nests has become an industry in itself in Malaysia, with the finished product fetching around £5,000 per kilo. I could only imagine the kind of pandemonium that ensued when the nests were harvested. When I enquired about this I was told: “…we wait until the birds have gone out!”. Makes sense.
The kindness of the people I met continued on this leg and I was rarely alone. One morning a man in military fatigues passed me a huge bunch of rambutan from his motorbike without even stopping, (the cycle tourist’s equivalent of a mid-air refuel). Whilst on another occasion a lady (with three kids in the back of her car) guided me to a place to stay after seeing me looking forlornly at this locked gate outside an abandoned ‘homestay’.
Eating was never a problem, with generous buffets, (like the one below), the norm along the route. In one place the proprietor returned several times to spoon on samples of his favourite dishes for me to try, then insisted on cancelling my iced tea from the bill – “it’s your first time here!”.
It had been a great ride but my back was beginning to suffer. Some days earlier I’d managed to get sunburned (…through my clothes…) and this had developed into a pretty ugly heat rash. The sight of the dual assault made a team of three pharmacists recoil and grip the counter in the city of Kuantan. I decided to give it some time to breath and was packed off for a day of rest in an air conditioned shopping mall by a doctor who saw me on the spot and prescribed a handful of potions for the meagre sum of £20.
With my back on the mend, the final stretch of this leg took me out of the state of Pahang and into the more conservative state of Terengganu. Practically speaking, this meant that I started the day on a Friday with everything open, but after crossing the arch below, officially cycled into the weekend, with restaurants closed and everyone off in best dress to Friday prayers.
By the afternoon, many had headed to the beach for weekend picnics. The chef at the beachside café below was very interested in the trip.
Whilst beautiful beaches were available down side roads, I also rolled through whole towns dedicated to Petronas Oil. In one roadside eatery, I was the only non-oil worker, everyone else in safety overalls.
With flat roads and my back pretty well recovered, it wasn’t long before I rolled into Kuala Terengganu, the state capital (…my arrrival heralded by a monster rainstorm!).
After a week on the east coast, where most small towns were almost entirely Muslim/Malay, Kuala Terengganu stood out for its large Straits Chinese community and bustling Chinatown.
I took a day here to explore and, as well as the town, visited the Taman Tamadun Islam – a quirky Muslim ‘theme park’ with 20 miniature versions of the great Islamic sites of the world. The air conditioned video presentations helped me escape the heat (…so I learned a lot about the Dome of the Rock!).
This stretch along the coast had been a joy and something of a honeymoon. From here my route would take me inland where hills and jungles lay in wait.
Rolling Project 